


Boxcars

by eoen



Series: La Vie XMen [1]
Category: X-Men (Comicverse)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-24
Updated: 2011-02-24
Packaged: 2017-10-15 22:34:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/165534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eoen/pseuds/eoen





	Boxcars

##    


Boxcars

  


Remy LeBeau was brooding. Not that he called it that of course. No, in his mind he as "thinking through difficult problems and probable outcomes of his decisions as weighed by past experience." But, even Hank McCoy usually referred to that as brooding. His current brood involved the typical "should I stay or should I blow." Stormy was back to her disconcertingly adult form. No one else in the house trusted him and they were heroes to top it all off.

He stared out over the grounds. The first few nights they'd sent the pretty little Southern belle to check on him. Now that it seemed he wasn't going to fling himself off the roof, he could brood in peace. This being the case, he was startled when a head appeared over the edge of the roof, followed quickly by the rest of a rather normal human body.

"You climb that every night? Why not just take the stairs?" Cyclops, also known as Scott Summers, asked as he leaned against a dormer. Remy blinked at him.

"Y' came t'rough m' window?"

"You left your door open. 'sides, I wanted to see if I could manage it."

"Remy locked de door." Hadn't he? Cyclops grinned.

"Maybe. Heard you were thinking of leaving."

"So?"

"You can't leave until after tomorrow night." That startled the younger man.

"Pardon?"

"Because tomorrow night is the anniversary of when I met Xavier. And I plan to salute the teenage delinquent I used to be. I need a partner and Storm has managed to have an adamantium rod surgically implanted up her ass."

"Stormy feels guilty cuz she promised y'r professeur dat she not steal no mo'."

"Great a guilty goddess. What a joy. Tomorrow. After dinner. You're driving."

"I am? Why?"

"I want to ride your bike. Logan nearly had a fit last time I borrowed his baby so I haven't been able to get near it. Don't forget your shades." Cyke left him alone to ponder the universe. Gambit decided that the universe was far too bizarre for comprehension and slipped back to his room. He checked the lock. There was one tiny scratch on the front.

"He picked de lock!" He muttered. I knew I should've hacked them.

****

It was hard for Gambit to get used to sitting with a family at a home-cooked meal. He ate sparingly and Logan glared at him. Jean kept pushing food onto his plate. Scott leaned back and, with the disguise of his shades, studied their, if he had anything to say about it, new teammate.

He was tall and lanky, 'slim' even Scott acknowledge with a private snicker. Scott noted to make sure he never lost the muscles he'd added to get rid of the hated nickname. Gambit was wary. His eyes focussed on his food, but flicked to the people around the table at random. It was an improvement over the past weeks. Perhaps seeing Storm restored had helped. Except for Jean and Logan, no one was paying attention to him.

That was odd. Gambit demanded attention usually. He must have the man more on edge than he'd thought. Ah, well, he'd get over it. What was that? Aha! It seemed their Cajun has the beginnings of a crush. Logical, Scott supposed. Thieves always want what they can't have. Of course, sometimes they get it. He smiled at Jean as she urged Gambit to eat.

****

Gambit did a double take. Well, the shades were the same, but he had never, never expected to see the man with black jeans and a leather jacket. Gambit supposed he'd gone off the boards wearing the leather jacket Belle had gotten for him instead of his trench. There was a nightshade plant high on the right shoulder in a black on black applique. She was a mite possessive but he loved her anyway. He was glad for his shades to hide his wide eyes.

He tossed the older man a helmet. "Where to?"

"The City."

"De bar or de local?"

"The bar which happens to be in the local." Scott was pleased to see the grin.

"Hang on den."

****

The City was a rather old-fashioned bar in the midst of nightclubs and themed entertainment. Cigarette smoke blurred the air. There were pool tables in the back and a Wurlitzer in the corner. Scott gathered two beers from the bartender and settled at a back table to watch the pool matches. Two beers later Scott had taken over a table and Remy was holding the bet money. Scott called it quits when he figured they had enough spending money to get them in to the other nightclubs.

"What's de plan?"

"I'm going to make the nightclub rounds, get drunk, dance, flirt and probably make snide comments about my teammates. Think you can handle that?"

"Y' remember dat dere's a red-head waitin' f' y' at de house?"

"Yeah. And you ain't gonna tell her anything."

"What exactly she think y' up t' t'night?" Gambit said, pulling on his helmet.

"Recruiting." Remy laughed.

"Where to next?"

"Your choice."

"Hang on." The club didn't have a name. It was barely legal and Scott grinned realizing that this was a test. If he reacted badly to this one, they would head uptown. But the pickings would be so much better at an underground club. And the liquor was cheaper. The real money was made elsewhere and everyone knew it. Well, at least no one would look twice at the shades. The bouncer nodded and let them by. No cover charge, how curious. Oh, look at them, rich kids trying to pretend they're tough. They wouldn't last a minute in the real world.

The mixed scent of cloves, tobacco and marijuana filled the air. There was a deeper musk of sweat and lust in the air too. The perfect place to cut loose. Maybe, just maybe it would be a fitting night to show off to someone who could appreciate it. There were people staring at them as they made their way to the bar. It had been a long time since someone looked at him with nothing more than lust. It was a nice change. Anonymity was a wonderful thing. And walking in with a charmer didn't hurt. Remy was obviously not worried about being unobtrusive. Scott's eyes narrowed as a hand snaked around the Cajun's waist. The offending party was skewered by a sharp shove and a wagging finger, oddly effective.

He jumped when he felt a hand slip in to the crook of his arm. He looked down at the willowy blonde. "So, come here often?" she breathed, on tiptoes to reach his ear. He shook his head. "Want to dance? Drink? Screw?"

"A drink to start, then we'll see." Scott made his way to the bar and leaned in next to his current partner in crime. Well, he didn't really know about the crime part, yet, but he'd go along with it when he did. The blonde giggled and spoke again. "I'll see you on the dance floor."

"God, they're spoiled." Remy raised a brow. "I didn't grow up with Charles."

"Didn' know dat. Stormy didn' tell Remy all dat much."

"And you get away with calling her Stormy?"

"De petite talk a lot, but she don' mean it. "She gone t' be mon Stormy f'ever." 

Scott grinned. "She really got to you."

"She got potential." Remy sighed. "Hate t' see potential like dat go t' waste."

"So, how'd you find this place?" Scott watched the crowd, planning.

"Flirted m' way in a couple years ago. De cops, dey don' want t' bust dis place. Too much money." Scott nodded.

"Time to dance. Guard this."

"Don' take orders, cher."

"You want to lose the money," Scott shrugged. Remy grinned and took the beer bottle. He watched as Scott slid in to the crowd. Well, well, well, looked like there was more to Summers than met the eye. Did he just? Yes, he had. Oh, too perfect. That means he won't mind if I indulge a bit, Remy thought.

****

"So, where next?" They were both still fairly sober. Remy mounted his bike. He wasn't surprised when he felt Scott press something into his pocket before they drove off. He pulled off into an alley. Remy quickly disposed of the wallets. Scott did the same. "How do they survive?" Scott asked.

"Don' know. Lets keep movin' fore de predators around here show." Scott agreed. "Anythin' in particular?"

"Loud, driving, anonymous."

****

"Jeannie, where'"s Slim?

"Recruiting."

"He's getting the Cajun drunk?"

"In a nutshell." 

Logan smirked. "Could I interest ya in a game o' pool?" 

Jean grinned. 

"No powers."

"Now that's no fun. Sure. Even if you are going to be a stick in the mud."

****

"You don't play pool?" Scott was shocked. That was sacrilege.

"Not too well. Weren't really ever m' game. More of a cards gambler."

"Then, you have to learn. It's not hard. I'll show you." 

Gambit shrugged. "Sure. Dis do it f' y'?" The echoes of music could be heard in the alley.

"Yeah. Sounds just about right." The music was hard edged and pounding. The bouncer looked Gambit up and down. Then, he glanced at the thief's companion. He grinned.

"Fresh meat, I see." Scott blinked, thankful for the glasses that hid his surprise. "Don't break this one, the ladies will adore him." A bouncer with an upper-crust British accent.

"How's school?"

"Finals are next week," the bouncer replied. "Don't come around until I've finished comps. You know how fussy Bosco is."

"Oui. Good luck on de exams."

"Thanks, Mike. I'll see you the week after next?"

"Oui. You report back on dat French final. Come on, Scotty."

"How long have you been in New York?" Scott asked as they wended their way to a back corner table.

"Took Stormy about three weeks t' convince me t' take her t' de Mansion. Den, it's been a few weeks since den. Been workin' with Charles over de internet."

"Really?"

"And de phone. He's de son of a friend of de family." Remy berated himself for nearly saying 'guildmember.' As far as he could tell Scott didn't know about the Guilds and he wanted to keep it that way. He hoped Stormy wouldn't tip him off. But, why the hell didn't the boy know of the Guild? He was good. He had to have learned something from someone. Damn it, why did you have to get a fucking conscience LeBeau? He asked himself. You should have hacked them before staying the night. Especially, you should have hacked them before letting them touch Stormy.

But the music was too loud and the crowd too pretty to bother with thinking for too long. Scott leaned back in his chair and surveyed the crowd. Gambit was still a little wary of him, but that would wear off in time. As it was, Remy had just shaken off whatever thoughts had caught his wandering attention and was focussed on his partner for the night. He looked expectantly at Scott. "What?" Scott asked defensively.

"Y' were a teenage delinquent?"

"Yes, I was. Now go get a bottle of something strong." Remy grinned, set his elbows on the table and refused to move.

"Non, story time."

"Not tonight, honey, I have a headache. Go get something to drink and if you're a good boy I'll tell you everything after the hangover wears off." Gambit considered that for a long moment, then wandered to the bar. Scott smirked to himself. This was going to be fun. He watched as the younger man's progress slowed as he flirted with anything that moved. So much for the crush on Rogue idea. Well, he supposed it wasn't out of the question. He was engaged and still enjoyed the flirting that clubs brought out in people. The bartender didn't even blink before handing Gambit a bottle of scotch and a bottle of vodka and two tumblers. The thief wove back through the crowd. He glared at one would-be pickpocket who grimaced and set the wallet back in place with a soothing stroke. The drinks made it back to their table without further interruptions.

Gambit set up the drinks then leaned closer to Storm's friend. "How long y' known Stormy?"

"Years. I'm not really sure how many. She's been a member of the team since the professor's first disappearance."

"And y' partner in crime? Sorry, I ain' an ex-goddess f' y'."

"That's okay. I was looking for a thief. Have I found one?" Scott sipped his scotch. Remy poured a finger of vodka into his glass.

"Dat depends on what y' lookin' f'," Remy responded. He heard a tragic sigh on the dancefloor behind him. He knew that sigh. "'alo, Maggie."

"I guess this means I have absolutely no chance tonight," she said draping herself over Gambit's shoulder.

"Not wit' moi, chere. Mon pere don' smile on dat kinda behavior."

"My money's good," she pouted. She was a little too old for the crowd. Her hair was bleached blonde and she wore contacts to make her eyes a brilliant shade of blue. Her make up was loud, but not too overdone. She looked like what she was, an aging party girl. "And next you're going to try to tell me you were never in the business. Fine, who's your friend?" she asked not waiting for Gambit's reply.

"John Black," Scott said, putting out a hand. "You can call me 'Slim.'" She raised her brow and took a sip from her glass. Gambit put a splash of vodka into it, which got him a smile.

"Slim? Doesn't suit you." Her eyes swept him up and down. "Slumming, Etienne?" she asked Remy. Remy rolled his eyes. Gold fingernails tapped on his hand. "Well, Slim, what are you drinking tonight?" Scott made a show of studying the label.

"Scotch," he said after a long moment. He looked up at her with a perfect smile. She cocked her head coyly to the side. "Won't you join me?"

"No, thank you. I never drink with a man I'm on a first name basis with." She sauntered away into the crowd.

"All t'ings t' all people, eh, Slim?"

"Did I say you could call me 'Slim'? You don't look like a blonde with too much make-up. Your pimp?" he teased lightly.

"Right, Cyke. Remy spends all his nights walkin' de streets f' dat one." He snorted. "Non, not even m' wife managed t' get me t' do dat. Well, not often." Scott wasn't sure if that was a lie or not.

"Youre married?"

"Non, sentenced." Scott snickered.

"No ring?"

"Non, a tattoo. Ain' seen m' wife in somet'in' like two years. She ain' all dat fond of me since de weddin'." Remy shrugged. "Ah well. Not'in' t' do about it."

"Except perhaps not flirt with a certain Southern belle of our acquaintance?"

"Where's de fun in dat?" Scott poured himself another drink. This was starting to do some good.

"So you're just toying with her affections?" Remy blinked, safe behind his glasses. He looked down at his glass, it was still full. He decided he needed more to drink.

"Of course. Don' know de girl, now do I? She just be a pretty fille, wit' some problems, non?"

"Right. You're her first."

"Why's dat?"

"Bobby's a coward."

"Icy couldn't hold up?"

"Nope. He spent his nights mooning about her to us, but couldn't get one damned word out when confronted by her."

Remy snickered. "Ain't no one paid attention to her?"

"Nope. And she's skittish. Go easy on her."

"Won't break her heart. I know her mama." Scott grinned at that.

"Is this a private party?" a voice purred in Scott's ear.

"Bon nuit, Raven."

"Hello, Remy. What's a boy like Scott doing in a club like this?" She ran her fingers through his short brown hair. She modified her skin to white, but looked like her usual self.

"Planning to take over the world, what else?"

"I didn't think the sainted Xavier approved of that sort of thing."

"Now, ask if I care. Have a drink, Mystie." Remy forced down his laughter. He watched the two like a tennis spectator. Raven did laugh. She shook her head.

"You'll ruin my reputation," she informed the X-man. She patted Remy on the head. "Don't do anything I wouldn't do."

"And dat would be?" Raven wriggled her fingers in a quick goodbye.

"Interesting place," Scott commented. "Time to move on." Gambit returned the half-full bottles. Scott had found himself a partner by the time the Cajun returned. Gambit watched him dance, an indulgent smile turning up the corners of his mouth. Who would have believed Mystique was stupid enough to get pick-pocketed. It must be Scotty's reputation, he decided.

"Keep this one, Etienne," Maggie said. Remy was sitting on the table, one leg swinging in metronomic time to the music. "Guildmaster Bones wants to know if you're going to stick around."

"I haven't decided yet."

"You've been in the city for over a month. People are starting to talk."

"Tell dem I'm dinkin' of investin' in local property."

"He moves well. Attached?"

"Hopefully soon."

"He's not Guild?"

"Non."

"Shit. Thought he was visiting from someplace. Didn't you have an apprentice?"

"She got her memory back, so I taked her home."

"Took."

"Took her home," Gambit corrected. "Den I stumbled across dis one when decidin' what t' do."

"Which is why you haven't talked to Bones?"

"Oui, chere. Don' know what Gambit's plans are." She smiled.

"Why do you pretend you're a back-woods idiot?"

"People like it." He brushed a strand of hair off of her face. "Benny not treatin' y' right, chere?" She shrugged.

"Business gets in the way sometimes. You know how it is." Gambit kissed her painted lips sweetly.

"Dere are always options."

"Should I be jealous?" Scott asked.

"Just keeping him warm for you, Slim. These Southerners get cold awfully quick."

"Sad isn't it? Think I should get a sun-lamp?"

"There are more interesting methods of generating heat." Maggie winked. "Now, remember what I said."

"Don' worry, Mags."

"Can't help but worry. Sweet little innocent child like you all alone in the big city" she sighed theatrically.

"Don't worry, I'll corrupt him soon," Scott said.

"Promise?" Remy asked with a grin.

"You'd be surprised. Come on, we've got an appointment."

"Really?" Gambit blinked. "Y' leadin' dis party."

"Damn straight." Scott caressed the handlebars of the motorcycle.

"Want t' drive?" Scott held his hands out for the keys.

****

Scott ginned as the younger man's arms tightened around his waist. He didn't need to hear the Cajun's actual curses to know what he was thinking. He gunned the engine and sped up. The warehouse looked to be abandoned, but if you knew better it was the best place in the city for a night on the town. He parked the bike in the sheltered area to the side of it and tugged at Gambit's ponytail. "Cheer up. It's in one piece. Come on."

Scott wasn't surprised when the bouncer didn't look twice at them. They would blend perfectly with the group. Remy leaned over and spoke directly into Scott's ear to be heard over the music. "I t'ink I'm in love. When y' find dis place?"

"A couple of years ago." Scott snickered at Remy's look of mock-adoration. He threw an arm around the younger man's shoulders. "Come on, it's time to learn the great art of pool. Old Slim'll teach you anything you need to know."

****

The last bar on the list was darker and smokier. The clientele ran to an older group. The few twenty-somethings had the hard-edged look of survival that Gambit recognized from the mirror. The bartender set up two beers without asking. A table cleared as they approached. "What'd y' do t' dem, homme?"

"Put the fear of God into them." Scott's smile was predatory. "I hope someone tries something."

"Y' goin' t' pay de bail?"

"The cops don't respond to bar fights. Not in this neighborhood."

"Cool." Scott sipped his beer.

"A fight really would top off the night. So, you going to stay?"

"Suddenly, Remy's gettin' de feelin' he's bein' hustled."

"Just a question."

"Stayin' 'til I get m' story at least."

"That all? Damn. Guess we do this the hard way. Why leave?"

"Why stay? Ain' no profit in rebellion less'n y' sellin' de weapons."

"Storm."

"Don' need Remy no mo'. She all grown up. She got her family. Got a family too, me."

"The dream?" Scott smirked.

"Save de world an' make her safe f' humans an' mutants alike? Didn' see y' as de fairytale type, cher."

"I'm not. I've got to keep up the rhetoric to convince the professor I'm sincere."

"Y' stayin' f' y' team den?"

"No, I stay for the Dream. But not the fairytale. The real one. Making the school a haven. Training people to use their powers. Trashing the FOH. Keeping the bad guys from becoming government weapons. Staying alive with someone to watch my back. Getting the chance to marry Jean."

"And screw Logan?" Remy interjected.

Scott snorted. "He wishes." Scott had spotted the familiar form too.

"Not interested?"

"Just like torturing him. You're late, Logan."

"Had to tuck Jeannie in," Wolverine said, straddling a chair. He had a beer for himself. "Yer both lookin' too sober."

"More fun when I can remember where I've been. 'Sides, need to be able to drive Gumbo's bike home." Remy blinked. It was the first time he'd heard Cyke use that particular appellation.

"I took a cab. I'll take care of the bike."

"We got more clubs to hit."

"Drink yer beer, Slim. Nightshade?" Logan asked. Remy blinked.

"Non, merci. Like livin'."

"On yer coat."

"Oui."

"Innerestin'. Why?"

"M' wife's named Belladonna."

"Yer married?"

"Oui. Almost six years."

"When'd ya see her last?"

"'bout t'ree years ago. Came t' an agreement."

"And that agreement is?" Scott asked.

"I don' go back t' Nawlins, she takes de price off m' head." Remy looked faintly wistful.

"You never answered my question," Scott stated. "Are you going to stay?"

"No reason t'. Got enough enemies of m' own."

"I'll make you a bet. Since you've got no reason to leave either, why don't we let chance decide?"

"What y' dinkin'?"

"Dice. You win the roll, I don't say anything else about your choices. I win, you stay and work for me. You stay for me. Not Storm. Not Rogue. Not a professor you've never met. Just a roll of the dice."

"Y' gonna want m' t' stop stealin' like Stormy?"

"No, we need at least one active thief. Storm says you target criminals. I don't give a damn about them as long as you put the hurt on them. No, I just win your services."

"What's y' girl gonna dink about dat?"

"Brat."

"Oui. Fine. Let de bones decide. De gods decide whet'er Remy stays or not."

"You're upping the ante. You don't have to leave."

Remy shook his head. "Ain' all dat good on makin' de right choice. Non, better t' let de gods decide." He waved a negligent hand. Scott decided that the alcohol was finally having some effect after all. The man was becoming more flamboyant as the night drew on. He wasn't getting louder, or flirting more, but his gestures were less restrained and he wasn't as wary of Scott's intentions. "Ain' leavin' 'til I get m' story, mind. But prob'ly safer t' have de saints decide."

"Logan, why don't you ask those gentlemen if we can borrow their dice?" Scott nodded to the men shooting illegal craps in the corner. Logan grinned.

"Hey, mind if we borrow yer dice fer a minute?" One of them started to object and was quickly silenced by his companions.

"Here, sir."

"Don't worry. We'll give 'em back. Just need ta decide somethin'."

"High roll takes it?" Scott suggested. Remy nodded. "Here why don't you roll first?"

"Merci." Gambit held the dice for a moment, then spilled them on the table. "Eleven." Cyke grinned.

"I love a good challenge. What are the odds of getting a twelve?"

"Twenty to one," the owner of the dice called out.

"Wish me luck?" Gambit snorted.

"Better t' ask f' divine intervention." Logan snickered.

Scott dropped the dice. "Twelve." There was mock applause from the thief.

"Y' win."

"Here's yer dice."

"Thanks." Logan sat back down.

"Establishin' pack hierarchy?" Remy asked idly.

"Yer hidin' an education over there?" Logan tapped the kid's temple.

"Special on de Learnin' Channel. Stormy was havin' nightmares. Remy sat wit' her. Put on de closed captions. Watched it twice."

"Twice?"

"De remote got, er, zapped durin' a nightmare an' I didn' want de petite t' wake up after she fell asleep 'gainst m'." Remy shrugged.

"Sucker," Scott snickered.

"Oui," Remy shrugged.

"Fer someone who just lost his freedom, yer awful calm," Logan stated.

Remy sipped his beer. He shrugged. "Can' argue it. 'Sides, never put a time limit on m' service. An' even if'n Remy leaves de house, de services still be free." Scott shook his head.

"I was hoping that had escaped your notice. Rogue hasn't figured it out." Logan's blue eyes suddenly fastened on Scott's face.

"What're ya talkin' about, Slim?"

"Made a contract between the professor and her by cutting a deck of cards." Logan laughed.

"Stacked or marked?"

"Neither. I don't cheat. I've just got good luck when it counts. By my count there are four more clubs to hit."

"It's almost three, Slim. Just get a couple of bottles and a cab. We'll finish up this party in the den," Logan said.

"This is my expedition," Scott stated.

"Ain't this traditionally the time ya head home unless yer passed out with 'Ro under the bar?" Scott conceded the point and handed over Gambit's keys. Logan left.

"Y' be good, I'll let y' borrow her again." Gambit patted Cyke's wrist.

"I'll get the drinks. You call the cab."

****

After the hour's ride back to the mansion, Scott woke the Cajun up. The younger man had curled up on the seat with his head on Cyke's lap without so much as a word. Remy didn't protest the tug on his hair when they arrived. Logan met them at the door and took the boxes of alcohol.

"Don't worry. The bike's fine."

****

Jean woke alone in the bed she normally shared with her fiancée. She wondered for a moment if he'd actually gone back to his old room by mistake. She prodded him to alcohol-fuzzy-semi-consciousness and located him in the den. She let him fall back asleep and found her camera.

The den was littered with empty beer bottles, empty liquor bottles and at least one empty champagne bottle. Popcorn was deliberately placed at almost precise one inch intervals on the floor behind the arm chair to form a circle about five inches across. Coins lay scattered in and around it.

Cards were scattered on the coffeetable along with potato chips, pretzels, and cheese doodles. It looked like they'd been playing Michigan Rummy.

Logan was snoring in the corner of the couch, Scott's head resting on his shoulder and his arm around the younger man. Remy's head, supported by his arms, lay in Scott's lap. The Learning Channel was muted and with the closed captions on. Jean snapped the pictures after giving a light telepathic urge to stay asleep to the men. Then, she slipped out. The blackmail would last for years, she thought as she hid the film. Then, she went to start breakfast.

FINIS


End file.
